TW: Mention of sexual assault

The woods were darker than I expected, the towering trees blocking out most of the moonlight. Bryan carried the flashlight, the beam cutting through the shadows as we ventured further from the camp.

"Do you even know where we're going?" I asked after a few minutes of walking.

"Looking for wood," he replied flatly, not bothering to look at me.

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the clarification, genius."

"You're welcome," he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath our feet. I kept glancing over my shoulder, the dark woods feeling more oppressive with every step.

"This is far enough," I said after a while, stopping in my tracks. "We should head back."

"Relax," Bryan said, his tone casual. "We haven't even found enough wood yet."

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "I'm not trying to get lost in the woods."

"You won't get lost," he said, shining the flashlight on a patch of sticks. "We'll just grab some of this and head back."

It wasn't until we'd been walking for another ten minutes that I realized something was wrong. The path we'd been following had disappeared, and the faint sounds of the campfire were nowhere to be heard.

"Uh, Bryan?" I said hesitantly, glancing around. "Where's the camp?"

He stopped, his brow furrowing as he looked around. "It's... this way." He pointed in a random direction and started walking.

I stayed rooted to the spot. "You have no idea, do you?"

He turned to glare at me, the flashlight beam bouncing off the trees. "I know where we are."

"Sure you do," I said, crossing my arms. "That's why we're wandering aimlessly in the middle of the woods."

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Maybe we're a little off path."

"A little?" I said incredulously. "We're lost, Bryan."

"Great observation, Sherlock," he snapped. "Got any better ideas?"

I bit back a retort, my heart pounding as I realized just how deep into the woods we were. "We should stop and figure this out before we make it worse."

He hesitated, then nodded, shining the flashlight on a fallen log. "Fine. Let's take a break."

I perched on the log, shivering as the cold seeped through my shirt. Bryan leaned against a tree, his flashlight pointed downward. For a moment, neither of us said anything, the silence stretching uncomfortably between us.

"You're freezing," he said finally, pulling off his hoodie. Before I could protest, he tossed it at me. "Put this on."

"I'm fine," I said, though my teeth betrayed me by chattering slightly.

"Just put it on, Amber," he said, his tone softer now.

Reluctantly, I slipped it over my head. It was warm and smelled faintly like him. I tried not to think about how comforting it was as I pulled it tighter around me.

"You gonna tell me why you were crying earlier?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. "What?"

"On the beach," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "I saw you."

Heat rushed to my face, and I looked away quickly, my fingers twisting the hem of his hoodie. "It was nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing," he said, his tone more serious now. "You were sitting there, crying like the world was ending."

I clenched my jaw, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," he pressed. "Amber, you don't just cry for no reason. What's going on?"

"Why do you care?" I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. "You're mean to me half the time."

He flinched slightly, but his expression didn't waver. "Maybe I've been a jerk sometimes," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But that doesn't mean I don't care."

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. Something about the sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at me—it was disarming.

"I've just... been feeling overwhelmed," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "With everything. My injury, the trip, school, dancing. It's all... too much sometimes."

Bryan watched me for a moment, his gaze unreadable. "That's not nothing," he said softly.

I shrugged, pulling the hoodie tighter around me. "It's not your problem."

"Maybe not," he said, sitting down beside me. "But it doesn't mean you have to deal with it alone."

His words hung in the air, and for once, I didn't have a sharp retort. Instead, I stared at the ground, letting the warmth of his hoodie and the quiet comfort of his presence ease the weight on my chest.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel so alone.

We sat in silence for a while, the woods around us eerily quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves. Bryan didn't move back to his spot against the tree; instead, he lowered himself onto the log beside me. The closeness was unsettling—not in a bad way, but in a way that made my heart pound harder than it should have.

The flashlight rested on the ground, its soft beam barely illuminating our faces. The cold air wrapped around us, but Bryan's hoodie was warm, and the faint scent of him clung to the fabric, grounding me.

"I should apologize," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

I turned my head toward him, startled. "For what?"

"The kiss," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the ground. "I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't fair to you."

My chest tightened at his words. I didn't know what I'd expected him to say, but hearing the apology felt heavier than I anticipated. "You don't have to—"

"I do," he cut me off, finally meeting my eyes. "I crossed a line. And after everything, I probably made things worse between us."

I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. I gave a small nod. "Okay."

We lapsed into silence again, the tension between us thick but quieter now, less jagged around the edges. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie as I stared at the ground, trying to steady my racing thoughts.

"I owe you an apology too," I said after a moment, my voice barely above a whisper. "For the nightmares."

Bryan frowned, turning to look at me. "What? Why would you apologize for that?"

"Because they're... messy," I said, struggling to find the right words. "And you've seen more of them than I ever wanted anyone to."

His expression softened, and for the first time, he didn't look annoyed or frustrated. He just looked... concerned. "Amber, you don't have to apologize for something like that."

I hesitated, my throat tightening. My hands twisted the fabric of the hoodie nervously as I tried to push the words out. "It's just... hard to talk about."

"You don't have to," he said quickly. "Not if you're not ready."

But I shook my head. I was tired of keeping it in, tired of letting it haunt me. And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I felt like I could trust him with this.

I swallowed hard. My throat felt like it was closing, like the words would strangle me before I could get them out.

"I've never told anyone," I whispered. "Not anyone... except my mom."

His brows furrowed slightly, his fists tightening on his knees. "Amber..." His voice was cautious, careful, as if he knew whatever was coming next would change everything.

I took a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I forced myself to continue. "It started a few years ago. There was this guy... someone I trusted. Someone I thought was safe."

The words felt foreign coming out of my mouth, like they belonged to someone else.

"At first, it was just little things," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "He'd stand too close. Touch my back when he didn't need to. Say things that made me uncomfortable, but always in a way that made me feel stupid for reacting."

Bryan didn't move, but his entire body tensed. I could see the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers curled like he was trying to keep himself from doing something reckless.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "I kept telling myself it wasn't a big deal. That I was overreacting, that he didn't mean anything by it. But then... then it got worse."

I took a breath, and it felt like I was inhaling glass.

"He started finding ways to get me alone," I said, my voice shaking now. "At first, I thought it was a coincidence. I thought maybe I was just being paranoid. But then, one night, he cornered me."

The memory clawed at my mind, sharp and vivid. The way the air had felt thick, how I could still remember the smell of his cologne mixing with something sour.

"I told him to stop," I whispered. "I told him I didn't want to. But he didn't care. He pushed me down and—" My voice broke, and I had to force myself to say it. "He...you know....he raped me."

Bryan's breath left him in a sharp exhale, his fists so tight his knuckles had turned white. His entire body looked like it was coiled, barely restrained.

I let out a shaky breath, unable to meet his eyes. "And it didn't stop there."

Bryan flinched slightly, like the words physically hit him.

"It happened again," I continued, my voice barely audible. "And again. Every time, I told myself I'd fight back, that I'd scream or do something, anything, to stop him. But I never did."

Tears blurred my vision, and I hated how my voice cracked. "I just let it happen. I laid there, frozen, and I let him do whatever he wanted."

Bryan's whole body was shaking now. I could see the way his chest rose and fell, the way his hands clenched and unclenched like he wanted to hit something, break something.

"I didn't tell anyone," I admitted, my voice breaking. "Because he told me no one would believe me. That people would say I asked for it. And for a while, I believed him."

I wiped at my face angrily, hating how weak I felt. "The last time... I fought back." My hand instinctively went to my hip, my fingers brushing against the scar hidden beneath my clothes. "He was drunk. He wanted more, and I finally told myself I wouldn't let him take anything else from me. I tried to push him off, but he was so much stronger than me. He grabbed a knife and—" I choked on my own breath. "He told me if I didn't stop fighting, he'd make me regret it."

Bryan's breathing had turned ragged, but he still didn't say anything.

"He cut me," I whispered. "Not enough to kill me, but enough to remind me that he was in control."

The silence that followed was unbearable.

I forced myself to look at Bryan, expecting to see pity. But his expression was something else entirely.

Rage.

Pure, unfiltered rage.

His hands were trembling, his knuckles white from how tightly he was clenching his fists. His jaw was locked, his nostrils flaring slightly as his entire body seemed to vibrate with barely restrained fury.

For the first time since I'd started talking, he spoke.

"Tell me his name."

His voice was low, quiet. Dangerous.

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter—"

"Don't say that," he snapped, his voice sharper than before. "It fucking matters, Amber."

Tears welled in my eyes again, and I wiped at them furiously. "Why do you care?" I choked out. "Why now?"

Bryan's expression twisted like he wanted to say something, but he exhaled sharply instead, running a hand through his hair. "Because I do," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Because no one should have to go through that."

I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders trembling. "It still feels like he won," I whispered. "Every time I see the scar, it's like he's still there."

Bryan hesitated, then did something I never expected.

He moved closer.

Slowly, carefully, like he was afraid I'd pull away. And when I didn't, he reached out, his fingers brushing against my arm before wrapping around my wrist, grounding me.

I let out a shaky sob, my shoulders trembling. "I hate it," I whispered. "I hate that it still feels like he's winning. That every time I see that scar, it's like he's still there, still controlling me."

Bryan moved closer, his hand hovering near mine before finally resting on my arm. "He's not winning," he said softly. "You're still here, Amber. You're stronger than he'll ever be, you won."

I let out a soft, broken sound, something between a laugh and a sob. "I don't feel like I did."

Bryan's grip on my wrist tightened slightly. "You did. And if he were in front of me right now, I swear to God—" His voice cut off, shaking with barely contained anger.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Bryan exhaled, his grip softening. "You don't have to thank me, Ballerina."

Something about the nickname, said so softly, made my throat tighten.

I don't know how it happened, but I found myself leaning against him, my head resting against his shoulder. He didn't pull away. He didn't make it weird. He just sat there, steady and warm, like an anchor in the middle of a storm.

For the first time in years, I didn't feel so completely alone.

Bryan didn't move away. He didn't tense or shift uncomfortably. He just let me lean into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His warmth seeped into me, steady and grounding. His chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths, and for the first time in a long time, I felt... safe.

We stayed like that for a while, neither of us speaking, the forest wrapping around us in its quiet stillness. The only sound was the distant rustling of leaves and the faint chirping of insects.

I let my eyes drift closed for a moment, exhaustion creeping in now that the weight of my confession was off my shoulders. My body felt drained, like I'd run a marathon with my emotions. But Bryan's presence, his steady warmth, kept me tethered to reality.

I felt his hand move slightly, hesitating before resting on my arm. A soft, tentative touch. He was careful, like he was afraid of breaking me.

"You okay?" His voice was quiet, but it cut through the stillness like a lifeline.

I nodded against his shoulder. "Yeah," I whispered. "I just... I haven't told anyone that before."

His fingers brushed lightly up and down my arm in a slow, absent-minded motion. "Not even Isabella?" he asked, surprising me.

I shook my head. "No," I admitted. "Just my mom. And even then, I didn't tell her everything."

Bryan let out a slow breath, his hand still moving in soft, rhythmic strokes against my skin. It was comforting. Grounding.

"She knows enough," I added, my voice quieter now. "Enough to be worried. But I never wanted to be treated like... like I was broken."

Bryan's arm tightened slightly around me. Not suffocating, not too much. Just enough to let me know he was there.

"You're not broken," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

I let out a shaky breath, a small, sad smile forming on my lips. "Sometimes, I feel like I am."

Bryan didn't argue. He just exhaled deeply and pulled me closer.

We stayed like that, wrapped in silence, before I shifted slightly, resting my chin on my knees. I wasn't sure what made me ask it—maybe the vulnerability of the moment, or maybe the way Bryan had let his guard down more than I'd ever seen him do before.

"Can I ask you something?" I murmured.

Bryan's fingers, which had been tracing slow patterns against my arm, stilled. "Yeah."

I hesitated, then turned my head slightly to look at him. "What about you? Do you have a big secret?"

Bryan was quiet. Too quiet.

My heart pounded, watching the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers curled into his palms like he was holding something back.

And then—too smoothly, too easily—he said, "No."

I frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Nothing like... what you went through."

That wasn't what I had asked, but he said it like it was a way to shut the conversation down.

A strange feeling curled in my chest—something I couldn't quite place. Bryan never hesitated when he spoke. He was confident, sometimes annoyingly so. But the way he answered now, the way his fingers clenched slightly, told me one thing.

He was lying.

I didn't know what about.

But I knew there was something.

-----

Thank You for Reading Chapter Forty-Six !

Thank you so much for reading and for continuing to support this story. Chapter Forty-Six was an important one to write, and I deeply appreciate your trust in the journey these characters are taking.

If you or someone you know has experienced sexual assault, please know that you're not alone. Help is available, and reaching out is a courageous and vital step:

U.S. National Sexual Assault Hotline (RAINN): 1-800-656-4673

Canada Sexual Assault Support Line: 1-888-293-2080

United Kingdom Rape Crisis Helpline: 0808 802 9999

There are people who care and are ready to listen and help. Please take care of yourself, and don't hesitate to reach out for support if you need it.

Thank you again for being here and for trusting this story. Your support means the world to me. 💕